


McCoy Wakes Up

by Nikkiti



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27870573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkiti/pseuds/Nikkiti
Summary: McCoy and Spock have never spoken of their mutual affection.  Now McCoy is in a trauma-induced coma, so Spock has taken him to McCoy's former home in Georgia, thinking that the familiar sounds and smells of home will make him realize he's safe now, so he'll wake up.  That isn't what does it, though.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	McCoy Wakes Up

Spock had a set-up in the kitchen where he could lean McCoy's upper body back to facilitate washing his hair in the sink. Lately he had been sensing McCoy's consciousness more and more, like it was just beneath the surface. And today, while he took his time lathering the doctor's hair, McCoy was almost here with him, so close. 

"Mmm," McCoy hummed.

Spock failed to inhale for a few seconds, but he did not fail to keep his fingers moving gently through McCoy's hair. There was no more utterance, though, so Spock leaned down and said softly, "If you are enjoying this, Leonard, move closer. Come to where I am washing your hair. Leave the bad dreams behind you, and move toward my hands in your hair."

"S'nice," McCoy said softly. "So nice."

Then silence.

"Leonard?"

Silence.

Spock straightened and thought for a few moments. Then he said in a sharp, commanding voice, "Doctor McCoy, in the interest of maintaining a professional appearance, shall I shave off your beard?"

"No!" McCoy exclaimed, as his eyes flew open. He looked at Spock, squinted, and darted his eyes around to see where he was. "What? Why-- what . . . ?"

Spock allowed himself a cleansing breath, gathering himself.

"You are waking from a coma, Doctor, and since you are finding yourself in an unexpected and improbable location, you are no doubt experiencing disorientation. It will pass as your present situation becomes more real to you."

"Not real," McCoy muttered. "This looks just like my kitchen. In Georgia."

"That is precisely where we are."

"I knew you were going to say that. Exactly like that. I'm making this up." McCoy settled back and closed his eyes. "Get the soap out of my hair, you hobgoblin hallucination."

"Perhaps if I say something unexpected? Very well. There is an ancient Vulcan saying you are probably unfamiliar with: 'My sword in your service; your shield at my back.'"

McCoy didn't even open his eyes. "Yeah, like that's real--Spock spouting poetry."

"Do you know Vulcan, Doctor?"

"No."

"Then how likely is it that you could imagine it in this detail: 'Tnash-veh shek svi' ish-veh dvin ish-veh fo-dan na' t'nash-veh pla'.'"

McCoy's eyes flew open. "How are you doing that?!"

"It is my native tongue, Doctor."

McCoy tried to raise himself up on one elbow, so Spock assisted as he looked around in bewilderment. "But this is my native house. I have to be dreaming. I've dreamed up you and my house, and you in my house." He paused to look more directly at the Vulcan. "Spock . . . why the hell am I dreaming your hair that long?"

"I began wearing it longer after I resigned my commission to continue looking for you on Theta-three."

"You didn't. I waited forever, and no one ever came. Star Fleet left me there to rot."

"I searched for you until I found you," Spock said. "Two months, two days, and seven hours."

"That's exactly the kind of thing I'd make up for you to say, you know."

Spock had had enough. More than enough. After all he'd--

"Very well," he said in a tight voice. "Perhaps you are correct, and you are imagining this. Perhaps if you were strong enough to walk, you would go down that hallway where you would find a door that has never been there before. And if you opened it, you would find yourself in your seventh-grade classroom on a day when you had inexplicably forgotten to wear clothes."

"How would you kno--"

"It is a universal bad dream. Universal."

"Leonard," he said in a softer but slightly chiding voice to the man now sitting bolt upright. "You are not imagining this, and you are dripping soap on the floor."

Spock picked up a towel from the counter, helped McCoy lie back down again, and started wiping McCoy's face and hair with it.

While he did so, McCoy raised a hand to investigate his beard.

"Who trimmed this," he complained.

"I employed a professional barber."

"A professional jackass."

"We chose this style because we believed it would suit you, and it does. If you wish to let it grow pell-mell, you will no doubt do so, but I must warn you, if you slip back into a coma again, I will immediately summon the barber."

"I'm awake!" McCoy shifted and closed his eyes. "But I'm tired, Spock. If I doze off, please don't call the barber."

"Very well, Leonard. I shall finish washing your hair now."

"Any . . . surprises . . . up there?" McCoy asked sleepily.

A corner of Spock's mouth twitched.

"Only if you slip back into a coma, Leonard."

"Okay then. I won--." McCoy slept.

And Spock gave a tiny sigh of contentment.


End file.
